


In the Morning

by Miya_Morana



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Character Study, Episode Tag, Episode Tag: s01e01 Pilot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: It's the morning after the reunion, and Michael should have known better.





	In the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> New year, new habits! Because I missed writing, I decided to challenge myself to complete at least one ficlet per week, even if it turns out super short.  
> So I wasn't expecting much from the Roswell reboot but the pilot was great and now I'm realing looking forward to the rest of the show. And since Michael was already my favorite 15 years ago, I just had to write a little something for him.

Michael wakes up to a thundering headache, which isn’t fair. He didn’t even have anything to drink – he’s not stupid, he knows his metabolism doesn’t handle alcohol well. He does remember the taste of punch on his lips though. No. Not on _his_ lips.

Carefully, he turns around in the bed that is too large and too comfortable to be his, and looks at the man sharing it with him. Alex is still fast asleep, a ray of morning sunshine playing in his soft brown hair, and Michael’s throat tightens. He’d missed him. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed him until Alex turned and faced him on the doorstep of his caravan. His face looks harder, more defined, though the stress and anger have melted off in his sleep.

Michael wants to punch something, mostly himself, for how stupid he’s been. He should never have kissed Alex last night. He should never have kissed him ten years ago either, but he was young and stupid and it had hurt enough at the time to have to push him away. Now they’ve slept together and he’s going to have to break Alex’s heart all over again. He doesn’t know if he has the strength to do it.

Alex huffs in his sleep. If they are words, Michael didn’t catch them. He watches Alex toss and turn for a bit, holding his breath, but Alex doesn’t wake up. Michael’s eyes fall on the artificial leg leaning against the wall, and grits his teeth. It isn’t fair, that Alex had to pay such a high price for a secret he knows nothing about. But if Michael hadn’t pushed him away all these years ago, Alex would have found out eventually. Maybe he would have enrolled in the military anyways. Maybe the leg _isn’t_ Michael’s fault.

It doesn’t change anything, Michael thinks, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t afford to get attached then, and he certainly can’t afford to get attached now. Especially when Max just put them all in danger with his stupid stunt. As quietly as he can, Michael slides out of the bed and looks around for his clothes. He pushes back against the memories of the previous night, the taste of Alex’s mouth, the warmth of his skin, the millions of emotions in his piercing eyes. This is bad, bad, _bad_. But if he leaves fast enough, he can maintain his cover as a jerk. He _is_ a jerk, so it shouldn’t be hard. Right?

He pulls the shirt over his head and looks down at Alex again. The ray of sun shining through the slightly parted curtains is now highlighting a scar on his shoulder. It looks old, maybe from a few years ago. Probably before what happened to his leg. Michael remembers the soft, skinny nerd who used to be his lab partner in chem class, who’d managed to see behind the bad boy image he’d been working so hard on.

No attachments, he reminds himself. No shackles to this life. No weaknesses. He can’t afford it. He must be a wall, he used to tell himself, and it’s still true.

Michael gives up on finding his second sock, and grabs his jacket from where it had landed on the nightstand. There’s a photo stand underneath, the picture showing a much younger Alex and his mother. Next to it on the small table is an old, worn-out black leather bracelet. Michael lets his fingertip caress it for an instant. He’d wondered where he had lost it, at the time, but he had completely forgotten about it.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Pushes his feelings to the back of his mind. “It’s not fair,” he whispers to himself, “but it’s the way it must be.” Then he strides out, not daring another look at the man still laying in bed. If he had, he might have never had the strength to leave.


End file.
